Once Upon a Chilly Night
by ColieMacKenzie
Summary: Due to popular demand, this'll go on now! Starts off with a scene from Webb of Lies. I don't want to give it all away, so you'll just have to read on! Be prepared for some angst. ON TEMPORARY HIATUS while I'm writing the rest of the story.
1. Ch 1: Default Chapter

Since I received some wonderful reviews for my first story, I felt inspired and decided to have another go at it. I also need the retreat, as I am in a severe hating-all-schoolwork phase!

Fluffy is what I do best right now, so here's the next shot! It's probably not a very surprising storyline, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyways.

A/N: This is my take on our favorite scene in Webb of Lies. (If you don't already, you'll know right away what scene I'm referring to, and if you don't know the ep, then a) you should see it and b) don't worry, the story will be just as understandable.)

A/N: Intended as a one-shot... but you'll never know... smile

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, 'cause I surely would not have treated them as badly as the writers did!

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**Once Upon a Chilly Night**

She wasn't surprised that she couldn't fall asleep, so she had sat back up on the couch and wrapped the woolen blanket tighter around herself in an effort to disperse the chills that shuddered through her. She tried to arrange her thoughts, but her brain was a mess. Yes, she was upset about Webb's death, but her past was making an appearance as well. Usually she could keep it all under wraps, believing that if she simply did not think about it, it would not be an issue. A therapist would probably tell her that she was repressing her feelings, but she filed it away under 'self-preservation'. Yet in times of turmoil, it all just bubbled up, unstoppable and overwhelming.

It was so quiet in the apartment that she could detect his regular breathing. Somehow, it was a comforting feeling to be up in the middle of the night and not find yourself alone. She started concentrating on the rhythmic sound, and it began having a peculiar effect on her. Gradually, she felt herself getting calmer inside, and at the same time, in search of an outlet, all her pent-up emotions crept out. The tears started flowing freely, and she felt unable to stop them. Annoyed with herself for letting her emotions get the upper hand, she rose from the couch and tip-toed over to the window. There she remained, trying to take deep breaths, watching the rain pour down the window panes just like the tears poured down her cheeks. Another violent shiver shook her body, and the blanket experienced another brusque tug in her effort to pull it more tightly around her body. When she sharply pulled the top corners, the bottom ones whipped around her legs, and one of them smacked a small metal casket off the low end table that she stood next to. She immediately tensed up when the loud clanking of the box hitting the floor assaulted her ears and pierced the silence of the apartment.

"Mac?" questioningly floated over to her. Darn, she didn't mean to wake him.

"Sorry," she softly answered, and turned away from the window and in his direction, "I just thought I heard something, outside." She couldn't help but sniff in between her sentences, but immediately regretted it. She didn't want him to know that she was crying. "But it was nothing. Go back to sleep," she added quickly. Her gaze turned back to the window. She felt torn by the desire to have someone, _him_, to talk to, and her urge to keep up her tough façade. Having him in the same room yet out of reach made her comprehend how painfully lonely she felt. Before she could stop herself, she spoke up again.

"Is it always this cold in here?" It was the first thought that tumbled out of her mouth, although she was fully aware that the cold she felt had nothing to do with the room temperature.

"Do you want me to turn the heat up?"

"Yeah, maybe a little." She sniffled again. She felt silly, yet at the same time strangely relieved as, from the corner of her eye, she saw him swinging his legs out of bed.

Still a bit drowsy, he made his way over to the front door where the thermostat was located. While walking, his eyes remained on her, taking in her presence. The closer he came, the more noticeable was the state she was in. She was clutching his blanket tightly, and her eyes were wide-open, staring out of the window into the rain. The eerie light that filtered in the room from outside gave her a back-lit glow that highlighted her shiny hair, the prominence of her cheek bones, the softness of her skin. Even in her disheveled state, she was beautiful. At work, he always tried his hardest to look at her as his partner, not as a woman. It seemed to be the only way for him to keep the attraction that he felt for her under wraps. Yet here she was, in his living room, wearing one of his Navy sweatshirts, and looking in desperate need of a hug, of someone to take all her worries away.

After having set the temperature higher, he took a few tentative steps closer to her. He could see the wet streaks down her cheeks and felt utterly helpless. What he wanted to do was wrap her into a tight bear hug so she could just let go and hold on. But that would have been inappropriate.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked instead.

'Yes,' it ran through her head, 'I want to talk and be held and be told that everything will be alright,' but instead of issuing these thoughts, she just shook her head, sniffing some more.

"Alright," he answered, then reluctantly turned around.

Why had she said no? 'Don't go away,' she was crying inside her head, 'don't leave me.' She needed to say something, anything.

"I expected there to be death when I joined the Marines. Not when I joined JAG, not like this," she blurted out. That was really the crux of things with her, wasn't it? Maybe she was cursed. Death seemed to be at her heels all the time. Maybe she should just keep her distance from people. She kept her eyes trained on the window, but there was no more stopping the crying.

"It's like everyone around me keeps dying!" she admitted, dropping her head.

At this, he swiftly turned back towards her, and with a few quick steps had reached her, only stopping when he was right in front of her. She couldn't possibly believe that she was at fault!

"Hey, you had _nothing_ to do with this," he uttered, trying to give his voice a forceful undertone, willing her to grasp their meaning. It finally made her look up at him, her amazing eyes, unguarded for once, broadcasting all she was feeling at that very moment, sadness, fear, confusion, loneliness.

"No?" she questioned. "Dalton would still be alive if he hadn't been involved with me. My ex-husband wouldn't have died if he hadn't come back to see me." She wanted to continue but she just couldn't admit that her biggest fear was because of him. 'Now you are in danger as well, Harm, and I am so afraid that something might happen to you and I don't think I could survive losing you!' But of course, she could not voice those fears out loud. That would have been inappropriate.

"You don't know that," he pronounced, "and you certainly had nothing to do with Webb."

She couldn't look at him anymore; all she could do was cry, so she dropped her head again, trying to regain her composure. This was not at all the behavior a marine should show.

"Look at me, I'm crying like a big baby. No wonder they don't want women in combat," she sarcastically added, giving him a slightly embarrassed sideward glance.

At this, he had come closer. "Hey, men cry in combat all the time," he said, his sweet smile and slight chuckle accentuating the tenderness he poured into the statement, "they just don't admit it."

At that, she felt his warm, dry palm on her cheek, softly running his thumb along her cheek bone, wiping away her tears. His touch was electrifying; every spot of her skin that came in contact with his fingertips started tingling. Only now did she become fully aware that he was only wearing a pair of boxer shorts. Looking up at his naked chest made her limbs go weak; it took all of her self-control to hide the fact that she had trouble holding herself upright. She leaned her cheek into his touches, while simultaneously bringing her hands up to encircle his forearm, as much to steady herself as to keep him in that position. She did not want him to let go, ever. That was the moment when realization hit her. She loved him. She was in love with him. Finally the feeling that had crept into her in the White House Rose Garden and manifested itself during the situation with the stalker had a name. He had always been there for her, a strong and calming presence.

So she held on to his arm, stroking her hands up and down, enjoying the raspy feeling of his hair under her palms. Suddenly, her worries ceased to matter and all that was left in her conscious thoughts was him. The intensity of the moment, of feeling him threatened to overwhelm her. She needed to react before she completely lost control.

"Hey, go on. Go back to bed. I'm supposed to be here watching out for you, remember?"

"Yeah, right, I almost forgot. Good night, Ninja girl."

"Good Night."

Yet belying both their statements, they had remained in the same exact position. Neither of them was moving. His hand was still stroking her face, and her hands were still holding onto his forearm. He was reluctant to follow her request as he somehow sensed that she wasn't yet ready. Instead he moved first to take another step closer to her. He raised his right hand, initially to stroke over her hair, then to swipe a few strands of it off her forehead, until he settled it in the same position as his other hand, holding her other cheek and swiping away her tears with his thumbs. His fingers could reach her ears, so he softly began outlining their rims with his index fingers. His eyes held her transfixed as he was trying to give her whatever she seemed to need at the moment. He tried hard to keep his own emotions at bay; she needed comfort and he was not even allowing himself to consider that he was more to her than her best friend whom she could rely on in times of need. Yet there was no belying the fact that their position was an immensely intimate one. He was acutely aware of only wearing his boxer shorts, thus he was practically naked and almost in her arms.

She was debating with herself. She knew what she wanted, but would she be brave enough to go through with it? He had her head cradled between his hands, and it would take all but half a step for her to be wrapped in his strong and comforting embrace. There was no knowing whether he was feeling even remotely the same way. But wasn't the fact that he was still standing here instead of being back in bed a good sign?

Looking back, in all her previous relationships, she had always felt pressured to some extent, and only in hindsight had she been able to truly grasp how she had been forced to make certain decisions that she had not been ready to make at the time, hence many had turned out wrong.

Yet at this very moment, she felt in control. She felt that he was there for her in every which way, yet he did not expect anything, did not force her in any direction, and just gave her the comfort he thought she needed. It was her that recognized that she wanted so much more, and it was up to her to make the decision.

They had been routed immovably to the spot for what seemed like infinity, their eyes somewhat wondrously looking at each other, the only movement being his hands softly attending to her face, when he became aware of her moving. He held his breath as she, almost undiscernibly, brought their bodies closer together. While she never broke eye contact, she shuffled her feet forward, an inch at a time, nearer and nearer until they started touching, first at their thighs, then their hips. Upon the first contact with hers, his body violently reacted, desire running through him, desire for this remarkable woman that he had admired for so long. He could never even recall since when he had wanted her to be more to him than only a friend. Yet their first kiss definitely had something to do with it, that time at the dock when she was wearing the Navy uniform. The striking similarity had once again boggled his mind, but the moment their lips had touched, he had known. It had felt like a beginning, soft and sweet, innocent and promising. Thinking back upon that kiss now made him want to claim her lips again, but he felt that he should let her lead the way to wherever this was going.

While they were now joined up to midriff, she kept her upper body angled backwards, still holding onto his forearm, which had become the only means by which she could hold herself upright. Another 36 seconds ticked by in which she remained motionless again, reveling in the anticipation of the kiss that would now be happening. 'Now or never,' she thought to herself while she slowly but surely advanced towards him. Her eyes left his to travel south and gaze at his lips. Closer and closer she moved, she could already feel his breath, and then she finally touched her lips to his.

Their first contact was earth-shattering and spurred their simultaneous movements. She let go of her grip on his forearm and brought both her arms around his neck, twirling her fingers into his hair, while he slipped one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders, pulling her so close that not even a sheet of paper would have fit between their bodies. She continued kissing him, slowly and deliberately, her tongue sliding over his lips begging for entrance. When he admitted her, she reveled in his taste, his feel; everything about him was intoxicating. They discovered each other in a kiss that was tender, comforting, and full of promise.

Suddenly she pulled away. The unexpected movement and the loss of her body almost made him stumble, and he could only look at her, trying to decipher why she had broken their bond.

Her eyes serious, she returned the look. "Do you mind if I strip it down?"

He was so dazed by her statement that no answer made its way out of his mouth. He watched as she, continually holding his eyes captive in hers, took hold of the hem of her sweatshirt and slowly pulled it off over her head.

After she had taken the initiative, he swept her into his arms and carried her over to his bedroom. She had always found this rather cheesy in movies, yet now she could only sigh happily and sag against his strong frame. Carefully laying her down on his bed, he gazed deeply into her eyes, as if asking her whether she was sure. Seeing no objection there, he slowly undressed her.

Her beauty was breathtaking, and he was almost intimidated by the fact that she gave herself to him this uninhibitedly. On her right thigh, he could make out the faint scar that remained from their encounter with the poachers. With his index finger, he traced along the scar, and from there made his way up along her body. He could see her breath catching and her body squirming under his touch. He aligned himself with her and gently laid both her arms over her head, giving himself unobstructed access to her body. Every inch of her skin was given ample attention by his agile fingers and caressing mouth, until she felt like she was going up in flames. When she couldn't hold out any longer, she brought one arm around his neck and pulled him closer to her to claim his mouth in an intense kiss, whereas her other hand freely roamed his chest. While their eyes connected, he slowly entered her. And when they were gasping, dying together, it was the beginning they had both been waiting for their whole lives.

Later that night, she was cradled around his body, her cheek resting on top of his chest and her arms loosely draped around him on either side. The chills had dispersed and finally, she was sleeping peacefully.

When Harm woke up the next morning, Sarah was gone.

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A/N: Originally, this wasintended as a one-shot… but while writinga couple of ideas have crept into my head and I _might _continue this… Basically, it's up to you guys, so let me know what you think, is it worth carrying on?


	2. Ch 2: How To Deal

First of all, thanks to everybody who has reviewed – the flood of people asking for more has definitely taught me that this was a superfluous question indeed! In my defense, I really wasn't sure whether sometimes a story might not be more powerful as a stand-alone. Yet, as I live to serve, I do as requested (or even ordered!)

Yes, I realize that my last line definitely has cliffhanger quality – I swear I didn't plan it that way; that line just sorta wrote itself:-)

It also made me wonder why it is automatically seen as a cliffhanger. She might have just gone out to buy fresh bagels for breakfast and return five minutes later? She didn't, of course, otherwise I wouldn't have a story, but she could have! Just teaches us how much the show has messed around with our poor, shippery hearts – we automatically assume the worst, don't we?

Anywho, I should just stop babbling now and dive right into it…

A/N: This is how this works: The story will likely go on for a couple of chapters now, and I'll be using a few scenes here and there from other episodes following Webb of Lies, while conveniently ignoring everything that doesn't serve my purpose. If necessary, I will let you know before each chapter to limit the confusion (or so I hope). For example, we'll be going from _Webb of Lies_ straight to _Silent Service_ (only by the next chapter though).

A/N: All times are EST.

See Chapter one for disclaimer.

**Chapter 2: How to Deal**

It was only 0658 when she arrived at headquarters. Thinking work would be the sole thing that could keep her mind occupied, well other than with thoughts about last night, that is, she had come straight here, only stopping by her apartment to have a quick shower and a change of clothes. The bullpen was still blissfully empty at this hour, and she was grateful she could grab some coffee and reach her office without having to talk to anybody. She closed the door, drew the blinds, and sunk into her chair. "What a mess," she sighed heavily to the wall.

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_- - - Flashback - - - _

When she woke up, it was only 0517 and 26 seconds. Dawn was just about to break; it was normal for her to awaken this early. Out of the ordinary was the fact that she felt blissfully happy. She was so relaxed that her limbs felt weak and even though she had only gotten a few hours of sleep, they had been sufficient to make her feel well rested. Okay, maybe it was not really the sleep that was responsible for her current state of delightful relaxation.

She was still laying half on top of him, with her head on his chest and their legs intertwined. His right arm was snaked around her lower back, his hand softly resting on her waist. She was immersed by the feel of his skin, his musky smell, his whole being. How could she not have realized sooner that she was in love with him? Being with him now, she felt whole. Their night together had been heavenly. She sighed contentedly, snuggled closer to him and spent the next minutes in simple enjoyment.

Reality snuck in early enough when she became aware that she needed to use the bathroom. Getting up was the last thing she wanted to do right about now. Yet another few minutes later, there was no choice but to do just that. Carefully so as not to wake him, she lifted his arm off her body, which immediately dropped heavily onto the mattress. She had to smile at that, and then she pushed herself off him, placed a tender kiss on his chest, and got up to tumble drowsily towards the bathroom. At the door, she had to turn around and gaze at him admiringly. Sprawled on the bed like that, he was a picture of male perfection.

She was still in the bathroom when it all hit her. She never even saw the onslaught coming.

Washing her hands, her gaze had wandered up to the mirror from where a sappily grinning Mac looked back at her. Chuckling at herself, she had left her own reflection and was about to make her way back into his inviting arms when her eyes fell on a lipstick, haphazardly left on the counter. It wasn't hers. That's when it hit her: Jordan.

From there, the thoughts started rushing through her head, tumbling and stumbling over each other, and she felt helpless to stop them. She wanted to ignore it all, did not want to be eaten up by her own insecurities, but it was impossible.

He had a girlfriend! For all intents and purposes, she had seduced a man that was in a relationship! Because there was no denying that it had been her who had actively initiated their, ehm, encounter. She must have seemed really needy that he had gone along. What had it meant to him anyways? They had not spoken a word throughout or since, and she was clueless about his feelings. Just because it had made her world revolve didn't mean it had been anywhere near as important to him. She badly wanted him to reciprocate her feelings, but the fact that he had a girlfriend spoke against that, didn't it? Was comforting her on his mind when they were making love? Or should she only refer to it as sex? He had been very giving, extremely considerate to her needs. She had bared her soul to him, well not with words but bodily at least, and it was probably only a meaningless one-night stand for him. Or comfort sex. How was she going to face him? How did other women deal with the morning-after of a one-night stand? Particularly one they'd have to face at the office every day. Oh gosh, the office!

She had to hold onto the sink to steady herself as she tried to get a grip on her revolving mind. Last night she had known exactly what she wanted and had gone for it. Why could she now not stand up to her decision? Yet she knew why. She loved him and she could not face the fact that he did not feel the same way about her. Maybe he still thought about Diane, had seen and thought about _her_ when they were making…no, having sex? The thought almost made her sick to her stomach.

She had to leave. No way could she face heartbreak in his apartment, in her dishevelled state. She'd feel much more comfortable dealing with this properly clothed, on neutral ground. Postpone the inevitable until she felt less vulnerable. She knew that this was the insecure, non-Marine Mac speaking inside of her, the one that had no confidence when it came to men, the one that ducked or ran. In her professional life, she was in control. Yet in her private life, it was her that was controlled by the demons of her past.

Tears were stinging her eyes. Hadn't she cried enough lately? Almost fleeing, she left the bathroom, picked up her clothes that were strewn all over the floor, threw them on and left his bedroom. One last regretful look back told her that he was, thank goodness, still asleep.

_- - - End of Flashback - - - _

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Now all there was left to do was to dread meeting him. She wondered when he had woken up. She wondered what he would be thinking when he realized that she had left. She hoped he would be regretful, but that was her heart speaking while her head was whispering that he'd be relieved. A lot less hassle when the girl for one night was conveniently gone in the morning.

Annoyed with herself for having her thoughts dictated like that, she grabbed a couple of files and threw herself into her work.

O O O O

Her scent still lingered everywhere – in the sheets, in the air, on him, yet she had left. He could not believe that she had left just like that. Granted, they hadn't spoken, but he had believed that they had shared an understanding of what this was all about. He had always thought that that idea was a myth made up by romance novelists, but now he had to admit that not only did it exist but that it applied to him as well: Never before had he felt the way that he had felt being with her. And it just made it all the more shocking that she was no longer in his arms.

Had he done something wrong? She was so vulnerable last night, and while he had wanted her more than anything, he had also meant to give her everything she needed and more, to make her pain go away, to make her happy. And it had seemed to him that he had succeeded. So no matter how hard he tried, he could not wrap his head around why she had left.

Annoyed at her, himself, the world, he went for a shower. With cold water he tried to disperse all the images of her that were burnt into his mind; her beautiful face completely relaxed for once, her gorgeous body wringing under his caresses, his for the taking. It made no sense that she had left.

Never comfortable at meeting confrontation about his private life head-on, he decided to call Bud and, instead of heading directly to the office, wring Bud into accompanying him to investigate some lose ends left after Clayton's death. They decided on meeting at Webb's apartment.

O O O O

_Later that day…_

It was late afternoon and he had yet to show up at the office. According to Harriet, he and Bud were looking into a number of obscurities regarding Webb. All day she had been waiting for the inevitable moment when they would meet up again. She still didn't have a clue what to tell him, and she feared what she might read in his eyes. Nothing had become any clearer since this morning. With every minute ticking by, her jitteriness increased.

Suddenly, he was back. She could hear him talking with Bud. Their voices sounded rushed and strained, and Bud was researching on the computer. Something was definitely up. 'No time like the present,' she decided and, grabbing her coffee cup, headed into the bullpen to greet him.

"Hey, you're back." Gee, inventive, Marine! She didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed that Bud would be there for their first meeting 'after.' He turned his head in her direction but avoided direct eye contact.

"I went and saw Webb's mother." Ok, case-related; this she could deal with.

"How is she?" "Resilient," he answered, and then filled her in on what he had found out. She pushed her conflicted feelings to the back of her mind; they had work to do.

O O O O

_The next morning…_

After Clayton had left, the two of them were left alone in his office. By now she had been filled in on how, after they had realized that Webb was still alive, Harm had found him; how they had both encountered Palmer and how Palmer had once again managed to escape. She also knew how Palmer had used Jordan to play with Harm's mind, claiming her life was in danger and making him feel responsible for whatever might happen to her. After already having lost Diane, he must have gone through hell and back thinking he might lose another loved one. He was now staring out the window with a look of such utter bewilderment that all she wanted to do was wrap him tightly into her arms. The thought of feeling him close to her body again made her knees go weak and hot flashes course through her.

Yet through the scuttlebutt she had also found out that he had spent last night at the Plaza with Jordan. And if she didn't have her answer before, she certainly had it now. She should just get it over with then.

"Harm, I know this is the last thing on your mind right now…," she started, then took a deep breath. She still did not know where she would be heading with this but she just had to trust herself to find the right approach somehow. "…But, about the other night…"

"Mac," he sighed, turning away from the window to face her.

"No, please just let me get this out." Boy, she really hoped he was going to buy this. Straight-faced lying was not one of her talents, especially not with him, who always gave her the feeling that he could see right through her.

"I'm… I know it was me who seduced you. And I don't regret it," she rushed to add. At least she did not want him to think it was meaningless to her, or that she considered it a mistake. She just had to hide her true feelings. He simply could not find out she was in love with him.

"It was a wonderful night, and I guess it was what we both desperately needed at the time – to find comfort with a person who knew exactly what the other one went through." She found it increasingly hard to stand still, and looking in his eyes was out of the question, so she began pacing.

"But there's also no belying the fact that you have a girlfriend and I feel guilty about that." At this, she sensed that he was about to interrupt her, but she waved him off.

"However, we are both grown-ups, so I think we should be able to file it away under 'one-time exception' and move on?" What she truly wanted was for him to rush to her side, kiss her, tell her that he loved her, and never let her go. 'Fat chance of that happening,' she thought.

"You are my best friend and I couldn't bear the thought that I might have ruined our friendship." Wrap it up, Marine. She needed to get away quickly, as the tears were threatening to overwhelm her again. She was surprised she had any left.

"Is that okay with you?" At that, she finally stopped her pacing and tentatively glanced up at him.

O O O O

He was completely dumbfounded by her stream of words. He definitely did not see that coming. Of all the things he had imagined her saying about their night together, claiming that it was only comfort sex was the last thing he had expected, not from her. He was shocked, hurt, disappointed. He had truly thought that her feelings ran as deep as his. Didn't she feel that their night had been special? But she had said it, unmistakably; they were best friends only, nothing more.

She was right; he had a girlfriend. But last night he had realized that she did not mean nearly as much to him as Mac. Yes, he was afraid for her when he thought her in Palmer's fangs, and if anything would have happened to her, he probably would not have been able to forgive himself for the rest of his life.

He had yet to work out how deep his feelings for Mac truly ran, but had she given him any indication now, he would have left Jordan in a heartbeat. Guess he had completely misread her.

So what was he supposed to answer her now? He was not going to lean out the window and give himself away when she obviously did not feel the same way about him. He became aware that he stood rooted to the spot just staring at her. A reaction, any reaction, was called for.

"Ehm, sure," he automatically replied, then shook himself out of his reverie. "Yes, that's fine. I had been thinking the same thing, in fact."

So she had been right about their night after all. Inside of her, her heart was breaking. Pulling up all the strength she had left, she gave him a tentative smile. Then, acting purely on impulse, she stepped up to him, placed her open palms on his chest, and leaned up to place a tender kiss on his left cheek. She took another second to linger in his scent,then turned around and quickly left his office.

Yet belying both their assertions, from that point on their relationship took a turn for the worse.

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A/N: Yeah, another cliffie, y'all like that, don't you! I know, not the most cheerful of chapters. Still, let me know, did you like? And remember, things always have to get worse before they can get better…

A/N: Next stop, what really happened in _Silent Service _(in the world according to me)!


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